


The Accidental 'Lady and the Tramp' Remake

by quitepossiblyjanuary



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Animal Transformation, Crack, Dogs, First Kiss, Fluff and Crack, Gabriel being an Ass, Hijinks & Shenanigans, M/M, Wings, crackfic, dog!Cas, dog!Dean, dog!Sam, whats going on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-07 23:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/754342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quitepossiblyjanuary/pseuds/quitepossiblyjanuary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel thinks dogs are cute.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Accidental 'Lady and the Tramp' Remake

**Author's Note:**

> First fic here, because I really wanted to post something wow. This is really awful because it's too late for this, oh my god.

“Oh my god,” someone enunciates, “What the _fuck_.”

  
Dean stumbles into consciousness, blinking against the hard light, and realizes he’s not quite himself.

  
It’s not that he’s possessed, or a disembodied spirit, or under some weird witch spell, it’s just that he thinks someone woke them up and forgot the put them in their correct bodies today.

  
Sam is still tall, long, skinny legs that meet awkwardly with his body, he’s covered in fluffy chocolate brown hair and has stupidly long ears that tangle with the curlier hair adorning his chest. His eyes are green, and they widen comically when he realizes his nose is about three inches longer than it should be. He goes cross-eyed, but refocuses on Dean. “Dean,” he says, his voice gruff and scratchy, a growl, almost, “Have you ever heard of a spell like this?”

  
His voice is strangely calm, leveled, especially since they’ve just been turned into the cast of _All Dogs Go To Heaven_. “…no,” and he suddenly has one hell of an urge to look in a mirror.

  
“Great,” Sam says, rolling his eyes, “Should we call Cas?”

  
Dean twitches his ear, and _man_ is that a weird sensation, “I think this is an appropriate time, yeah.”

  
“Well, he doesn’t respond to my sorry ass, so, what’re you waiting for?” and, even if Sam’s a friggin’ mutt right now, he can still pull that bitch-face that everyone knows and loves. (Except now, it's kind of just a face).

  
“Yeah, yeah,” Dean pauses for a beat. “Castiel, I pray to you to please come help our -- now furry -- asses because we are probably in some pretty deep shit, right now,”

  
There’s silence, and from ten feet away, he swears he can hear Sammy’s heart beating. “Cas, please, seriously. We need your help.” There’s more silence, and then a ground-splitting crash coming from the inside of their tiny hotel closet,

  
“ _Ow_.”

  
Dean and Sam share a look, and trot over to the closet, that has a strong smell of muskiness that Dean had never noticed before.

  
Dean (whose still the shorter of them, disappointingly) tips the door open with his nose, the air rushed with a familiar scent he can’t quite put a finger on (or paw, rather).

  
And the inside of the tiny space of a closet is as much of a disaster as the rest of their crummy motel room, besides the fact that this particular space contains a very uncomfortable looking and thrashing mongrel of a dog.

  
That’s not the first thing Dean notices, though.

  
There’s some seriously _huge_ wings sprouting from the back of said mongrel, matte black with silvery-white feathers sprinkled in random places, and they glow, a faint bluish tint that makes Dean feel at peace, almost. It lights the closet like a fucking glow stick, illuminating the face of one pair of very confused doggy Winchesters.

  
“…Cas?” Sam tries, tipping his head to one side.

  
The mutt grunts.

  
“Oh my god,” Dean barks, no literally, _barks_ , “ _Cas_?”

  
The angel turned dog stares at them, with the same unsettlingly blue eyes and the same dark hair, “I don’t know what’s going on, and I cannot fathom any _idea_ of what’s going on, now, can you please help me out of this closet?”

  
+

  
Cas is really adorably cute.

  
And Dean should really be listening to what the angel is saying (barking, growling, whatever) but he _can’t pay attention_ because of those stupid fucking wings and the fact that Cas has these stocky little legs and a tuft of messy hair on the top of his head that looks just like human-Cas’. He’s just fuzzy and sweet looking, has black matted hair and floppy ears that curl over themselves, and to top it off, he’s got a white chest and belly and a blue collar that matches the tie he usually wears.  
“…might be Gabriel but I’m not sure, he’s never really…,” and Dean zones out again, because Cas’ nose is a dark flush pink that would match his human vessel’s stupidly kissable looking lips. “…cut off from Heaven. It would be best to find him, though. Of all people a Trickster would probably know of some sort of cure.”

  
“Okay,” Sam says, sitting on his haunches and reaching for an itch behind his ear, and seriously, that’s weird. It looks oddly disproportionate, the way that Sam’s legs are so awfully skinny and long.

  
“Just, tell me we can fix this, Cas.” Dean pleads, his eyebrows drawn together in as much as a puppy dog look as he can manage (and he thinks he’s pulling it off pretty damn well).

  
“An angel shouldn’t lie, even like this.” Castiel states, looking more than a little worried.

  
+

  
They can’t summon Gabriel, not without opposable thumbs, anyway.

  
And they try praying, too, the three of them sitting in a lopsided triangle and practically begging for that bastard to show up, but he doesn’t.

  
Dean’s starting to think he’d pay good money for that pipsqueak to appear from thin air, but then again, maybe he doesn’t _mind_ being a mutt.

  
He just feels so _mellow_ and _sleepy_ and wonderfully _calm_. It’s not even troubling, how much he wants to sleep at 3:30 in the afternoon and chow down on some hamburger meat.

  
Well, maybe the second part is a little troubling.

  
Cas sighs particularly loudly, the indents of his ribs visible even under the few layers of fluff he’s got going on there. Dean looks at him -- no really _looks_ \--  and notices he still looks tired -- with the darker fur underneath his eyes -- and his tail curled neatly around his feet. It makes Dean want to nuzzle up under his chin and tell him it’ll be alright. Curl up under those huge wings and press into his side, squash his cold nose under Cas’ throat and tell him there’s really nothing to worry about.

  
Some things, as it seems, didn’t change too much with the transformation from human, to dog.

  
+

  
Cas falls asleep, and that, in itself, is weird.

  
He starts off with his chin resting on a chair, and twenty minutes later it’s Snoozeville, snoring and all. Sam looks over at Dean like _shit, what the hell is going on?_ because Cas said it himself: angels don’t sleep. Or don’t need sleep, but whatever. He shrugs it off and ambles into the bathroom because he wants to get a good look at himself, and now seems like a good opportunity to make sure he doesn't look like the Tramp.

  
He hoists himself up on his hind legs, balancing his front ones on the moldy porcelain sink, and peering at himself through the suspiciously grimy motel mirror.  
His eyes are the same -- green with speckles of gold and yellow. He’s still got those stupid freckles underneath his eyes, too, dusted there as permanent dirt.

His nose is shiny and dark, and he’s got ears that could flag down an airplane. Big and pointy, with little tan stripes that look like a zebra’s criss-crossing them.

  
The rest of him is the same pale brown he’d had on his head human, it’s short and cropped and shiny, with patches of sudden freckles on his back. And he’s sort of bulky, muscular, especially along his shoulders, just like always.

  
Dean sighs, backing off of the sink and back onto the floor, the quick landing sending a light jolt of pain through his bones. Man, the height difference was still something he’d have to get used to.

  
+

  
Castiel wakes up with a crick in his neck and bleary eyes.

  
Dean can tell, by the way he stands up stiffly, rolls his head around and winces when he pulls a little too far. He blinks thoroughly, too, staring at the chair he was previously rested on in a way that clearly says _I cannot tell if I am going blind, or just still awakening_ , and it’s most likely an angel thing, that, because he probably hasn’t slept in years.

  
And it kind of hits Dean like a freaking sucker punch, the reason why Cas looks so damned tired all the time, it’s not just because Jimmy looked tired, it’s because Cas _never_ sleeps, when he probably should. Because right in this moment, the angel looks more rested than he ever has -- the way his ears perk up that much more and his bed hair makes him look like a little lost ten-year-old that just found his daddy.

  
Although, Cas’ll probably never find his daddy.

  
Sam snorts in his sleep, and Dean and Cas share a look, like _whoa there, Sammy_ and Dean really can’t help but break into a shit-eating grin, because, he really feels lighter than he has in a while. It’s nice knowing all you have to do is sit in a room and rest, sometimes.

  
“Oh, you guys are so _cute_ ,” then suddenly, Gabriel.

  
And shit, Dean’s never going to make fun of the archangel for being short ever again. In this picture, he’s at least two feet taller than all of them, even Sam, who’s jerked awake and leaped off the bed.

“Fucking _finally_ ,” Dean growls, and he can feel the freaking hair on his spine stand on end, “It’s about _time_.”

  
“It’s only been a day,” Gabriel says, shrugging, “It’s not the worst I’ve done.”

  
The three of them turn simultaneously to stare at him, teeth flashing, “You what?” Castiel barks, “Gabriel, we thought this was _serious_!”

  
Gabriel flinches, because shit, Cas is breaking out his angel voice now. It’s the voice he uses when you know you’re fucking screwed and probably going to leave the argument with an angel shaped bruise, “Is anything I do ever serious?” Gabriel says, with a roll of his shoulders, back to his nonchalant nature. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m only here to change you back, so, don’t be rude or you’ll be stuck in furry form for the next month or so.” The archangel holds his fingers in a pre-snap position with a taunting expression, and Sam and Dean swallow, turning to look at Castiel, who glares, but nods awkwardly.  
Gabe snaps, and they’re all back to normal.

  
The best part? Gabriel is now the shortest again, and it makes Dean feel a million times better, because having to look up at the little guy was at the very, very bottom of Dean’s expected list of thoughts this morning, and now, it’s back there again.

  
+

  
That night, Cas stays with them.

  
He sits, inclined back on one of the shitty motel chairs, with his feet propped up on the edge of Dean’s bed and his arms crossed over his chest, his trench coat lying haphazardly on the back of his chair and his tie loosened so it sits just dangling around his neck.

  
Sam’s gone out for a drink, which means, _guys I feel awkward just sitting here so I’ll um, leave_ which also means _I’ll probably be gone like 24 hours I dunno_.  
Which is good, ‘cause damn, Cas is just sitting there, mindlessly watching TV, not saying anything, just silently trying to understand the strangeness of human culture.

  
He just looks so utterly human, and after today, Dean can certainly vouch for what’s human, and what’s not.

  
And right now, Cas is the fucking poster-boy for human. “Hey, Cas,” Dean says, interrupting the obviously not fascinating commercial for soap the angel seems vaguely confused by.

  
Castiel turns his head, offers a small _hm_? of acknowledgement and Dean pats the space on the bed next to him, and it’s not sexy or seductive or glamorous or anything, just _come sit with me because I need something filling this empty space_ , so naturally, Cas does.

  
He flops down on the bed, shoes and all, and leans back against the stupidly flimsy headboard, allowing for their shoulders to feel the warmth of being so close.  
Dean lets his head drop onto Cas’ shoulder, and he doesn’t tense at all but Dean does, because Cas? Casual? Zero sticks up his ass? Dean doesn’t know what’s going on.

  
And suddenly, he does.

  
He nuzzles at Cas’ cheek, presses the crooked line of his nose which has been broken too many times against the pale column of his throat, tickles his hair against the underside of Castiel’s chin and lets out a happy sigh, curving his body to fit into his angel’s side, and pictures the wings still there, wrapping carefully around the both of them. He can feel vibrations when Castiel hums, pleased, and uses his chin to muss up Dean’s hair. And Dean feels like one -- or both -- of them should be freaking out but then he realizes _they’ve been waiting for this_ and just breathes, breathes in Cas’ musky scent which is what he couldn’t pinpoint earlier. Thick and rich like wet soil, sharp with a hint of mint tossed in because Cas is a bit of a hygiene psycho, but that’s just okay.

  
Everything’s okay.

  
Dean thinks he says ‘Cas’, but he’s not sure, he’s too busy counting the wrinkles by those stupidly bright blue eyes. Dean stares pointedly at Castiel’s lips, and for once, everything just clicks with him.

  
Castiel -- who’d been sitting up ramrod straight -- leans over and just presses their noses together, like a puppy kiss (cold noses, tangling whiskers, little tongues), and Dean slowly eases their lips together, soft and easy. It’s pleasant -- a warm buzz in Dean’s stomach -- like after a few shots of whiskey.

After that, it gets silly.

  
Dean laughs into it and Cas smiles and Dean nips at his throat and finds a spot that makes Cas tilt his head back and whine.

  
Dean kisses him stupid after that, and sends a prayer to Gabriel.

  
_Thank you._


End file.
